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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29925651">seeweed brain</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lelepwrk/pseuds/lelepwrk'>lelepwrk</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the adventures of mark lee [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Mark Lee (NCT), Alpha Wong Kun Hang | Hendery, Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Lee Donghyuck | Haechan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:35:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,933</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29925651</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lelepwrk/pseuds/lelepwrk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark, working on nothing but a bite of sandwich and pure adrenaline, did the only thing that felt natural, and swings the sword. The metal blade hit her shoulder and went straight through her body like she was made of water. Ms. Chang exploded into a sand storm, leaving the room with a hiss and an evil chill, as if her eyes were still watching him. Mark was alone. He was alone in a room, holding a ballpoint pen.</p><p>alternatively: mark lee finds out he's a demigod after accidently throwing his classmate into a fountain</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the adventures of mark lee [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2200791</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/773085">percy jackson and the olympians: the lightning thief</a> by rick riordan.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi!! i should prolly finish reflection before this but i cant get percy jackson mark out of my head so here you go, i hope you guys like it and pls lmk on my cc or my twitt what you think!<br/>caroline</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mark didn’t choose to be a demigod. He thinks he should have just believed the lie his mother had been spoon feeding him about his father all his life, and lived on never knowing who he really was, what he could do. Being a demigod is dangerous, and most of the time, it gets you killed.<br/>
His name is Mark Lee. He’s fourteen years old and he had been attending SM acadmey, a boarding school for troubled kids. He is a troubled kid, but not in ways one might expect. He can state every point in his miserable, short life to prove it. He even made an extensive list, but things started to really go downhill when his class took a field trip to Manhattan, twenty seven fucked up kids and two teachers, armed with clipboards on a rickey school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at old Greek and Roman stuff. Mark thinks it sounds like torture, but Mr. Kim was leading the field trip, and Mr. Kim was cool. He had a motorized wheelchair, which Mark thought was absolutely sick, and always wore the same thinning jacket that smelled of coffee. He didn’t look that cool, but he told stories and had tons of Roman artifacts in his classroom. It was the only class that didn’t put Mark to sleep. He hoped the trip would be okay, or, that he wouldn’t get in trouble. He was, unfortunately, wrong. Bad things usually happen to him on field trips. Once, in 5th grade, there was an incident with an old Civil War cannon. He wasn’t aiming for the school bus, but he got expelled anyway. Of course. And, after that, his 6th grade class got an inside view on sharks, and he accidently hit the button to open the catwalk, and the class took an unplanned swim in a shark infested pool. All the way into the city, he put up with Choi Chani throwing bits of peanut butter and jelly sandwich into his best friend, Guanheng’s hair. Guanheng was an easy target. He was weird, scrawny, and cried when he got frustrated. Mark thinks he was held back a few grades because there was a small start of wispy facial hair and acne that he hadn’t received yet. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE forever because of some muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but Mark had seen him run when it as nacho day at luch, so he thinks Guanheng’s partly full of bullshit. Choi Chani was throwing bits of the sandwich into Guanheng’s hair, and Mark was annoyed. Chani knew there was nothing Mark could do about it since he was already on probation. The headmaster had quite literally threatened him to death with the almost punishment of in school suspension, if anything bad, embarrassing for him or other parties, or mildly entertaining happened. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m going to kill her.” Mark mumbles, sliding down in the bus seating. Guanheng snorts, dodging another piece of sandwich. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay,” He shrugs, “I like peanut butter.” Mark scowls, watching Guanheng dodge another piece successfully.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s it.” Mark tries to stand up, but Guanheng forces him to sit down. He keeps his hand over Mark’s lap to keep him down. Mark feels like a child. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re already on probation,” Guanheng reminds, “You know who’ll get blamed if anything happens.” Mark scowls. Looking back on it, he thinks he should have socked Choi Chani in the face. In school suspension would have been easy compared to what happened.<br/>
Mr. Kim led the tour in his dope ass wheelchair. The wheelchair whirled as he guided them through the large and echoey hall full of marble statues and big glass cases with pots in them. Mark was amazed at how some of this stuff stayed in near perfect condition for so long. Mr. Kim stopped in front of a thirteen foot tall statue with a Sphinx at the top, and started telling them that it was a grave marker for a girl around their age. Mark was trying to listen because he found it interesting, but everyone around him was talking, and everytime he would hiss at them to shut up, the other teacher chaperone, Ms. Chang, glared at him. Ms. Chang was a little math teacher from the South who always wore what Mark would consider a dope leather jacket, had it not been that Ms. Chang, an old woman, wore it. She looked mean enough to drive a motorcycle straight into someone’s locker, and had come to SM halfway through the year, when the other math teacher had a nervous breakdown. Mark calls bullshit on that one. From her first day, Ms. Chang loved Choi Chani and thought Mark was a spawn of the devil. She would always point a ringed finger at him and say, ‘Now Honey,’ in her southern drawl, and Mark always knew he was in trouble. Once, after she’d made him erase old math problems out of math textbooks until midnight, he’d told Guanheng that he didn’t think she was human. And Guanheng just looked back at him with an exasperated expression and said, ‘Dude, she isn’t.’ Mr. Kim kept talking about the funeral art. Finally, Choi Chani giggled something about the naked man on the statue, and Mark turns around. </p><p> </p><p>“Will you shut up?” It came out louder than he meant. People start laughing. Mr. Kim stops the story immediately.</p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Lee,” Mr. Kim calls, “Did you have something to add?”</p><p> </p><p>“No sir!” Mark calls back, ears red. Mr. Kim simply points to one of the pictures on the statue. </p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps you’ll like to tell us what this is.” Mark looks at the carving, instantly feeling happier. He actually knew that carving. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s,” People giggle as his voice cracks. He tries again, “That’s Kronos eating his kids, right?” Mr. Kim nods. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” He says, obviously not satisfied, “And he did that because?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because,” Mark racks his brain for the answer, “Kronos was the King God.” </p><p> </p><p>“God?” Mr. Kim interrupts. </p><p> </p><p>“Titan,” Mark corrects himself, “He was the King Titan, and he didn’t trust his kids, which were the gods, so um he ate them, right. But Zeus’s mother hid him away and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead, and when Zeus grew up he tricked father dearest, Kronos, into vomiting up his siblings,” Some girl behind him gags, “And there was a big fight between the gods and the Titans,” Mark continues, undeterred, “And the God’s won.” </p><p> </p><p>“Like we're going to need this in real life,” Chani whispers to a friend behind Mark, “Like on a job application it’s going to ask why some titan ate his kids.” </p><p> </p><p>“And why, Mr. Lee,” Mr Kim says, “To restate Ms. Choi’s excellent question, “Does this matter in real life?”</p><p> </p><p>“Busted.” Guanheng snickers. </p><p> </p><p>“Shut up!” Chani hisses, entire face red. At least Chani got picked on as well, Mark thinks, Mr. Kim was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He has sonar ears. Mark thinks about the question and shrugs. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know, sir.” </p><p> </p><p>“I see,” Mr. Kim looked disappointed, “Half credit then, Mr. Lee. Zeus did feed his father a mixture of mustard seed and white wine, which caused him to throw up the other gods, who, of course, being immortal, had spent the whole time growing up in Kronos’s stomach. The God’s defeated their father, cut him up into pieces with his own sword, and spread his parts all over Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that note,” He sounds strangely cheerful, “It’s time for lunch, Ms, Chang, would you lead them out?” The class drifts off after their math teacher, and Mark and Guanheng were about to follow when Mr. Kim calls Mark’s name again. He tells Guanheng to continue and heads back to his teacher. He knew what was coming. Mr. Kim had a look that wouldn’t let you go, brown eyes so intense it seemed they had lived a thousand years.</p><p> </p><p>“You must learn the answer to my question.” Mr. Kim says. </p><p> </p><p>“About the Titans?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Mr. Kim shakes his head, looking at the statue again, “About real life. And how your studies apply to it.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Mark says, dumbly.</p><p> </p><p>“What you will learn from me,” Mr. Kim fixes him with a look, “Is vitally important, and I expect you to treat it as such, I expect the best from you, Minhyung Lee.” Mark’s eyes shoot up at the use of his birth name. Mark wanted to get angry because Mr. Kim pushed him so hard. Sure, he thinks, it was kinda cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor, sword point digging into the chalkboard and shouted at them to write down as many names of Greek and Roman people that lived, as well as their parents, wives, children, and what God they worshipped. But, Mr. Kim expected Mark to be as good as everyone else, despite the fact that he has dyslexia and an attention disorder, and he had never made above a C in his life. Mr. Kim didn’t expect him to be just as good, he expected him to be better. And he couldn’t remember all those names, much less spell them correctly. Mark mutters something about trying harder while Mr. Kim looks mournfully at the statue, as if he had been there for that girl’s funeral. Mr. Kim tells him to go outside and eat his lunch. The class gathered on the front steps of the museum so they could watch the traffic. Mark notices a large storm was brewing right above where they were, with clouds blacker than he’d seen over the city. He shrugs it off, thinking it had to do with global warming. The weather all across New York was fucked since Christmas. No one else seemed to notice. Boy’s were too busy throwing crumbs of lunchable crackers at pigeons, and Choi Chani was too busy trying to pickpocket a woman’s purse. Mark glances over at Ms. Chang, and notices she's not seeing the theft. Mark and Guanheng sat on the edge of the fountain, away from their classmates. They thought maybe if they did that, people wouldn’t think they were from that school. The school for the fucked up kids who can’t make it anywhere.</p><p> </p><p>“Detention?” Guanheng asks, picking at his nail.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Mark sighs, “Not from Kim. I wish he would lay off me though,” Guanheng stops his picking, “I mean, I’m not a genius.” Guanheng doesn’t say anything for a while, and just when Mark thinks he’s going to say something philosophical to make him feel better, Guanheng asks for his apple. Mark’s not hungry, so he lets him take it. Mark watches the stream of taxis going down the street and thinks about his mom’s small apartment. It’s not that far from here. He could hail a taxi and go to see her. She’d probably give him a smothering hug, and be happy to see him, but also disappointed. She’d send him right back to SM, remind him to work hard, and that even though SM was his 7th school in seven years, he’d probably get kicked out. Mark wouldn’t be able to stand the sad look she would give him. Mr. Kim parked his wheelchair at the end of the handicap rail, and was eating celery so quickly that Mark wasn’t sure when he'd last eaten. A small red umbrella was sticking out of the back of the wheelchair, hiding Mr. Kim from the sun.  Mark thinks he looks like a small picnic table. He’s just about to unwrap his sandwich when Choi Chani appears in front of them with a small gaggle of her ugly friends, and dumps her half eaten lunch into Guanheng’s lap. Jelly smears on Guanheng’s black jeans.</p><p> </p><p>“Whoops.” She grinned, teeth crooked. Mark tries to stay cool, tries to not punch her. The school counselor had told him a million times to count to ten and get a hold of his temper, but he was so absolutely livid his mind went blank. Something that sounded like a wave roared in his ears. He doesn’t remember touching Chani at all, but the next thing he knows, Chani’s sitting on her butt in the fountain.</p><p> </p><p>“Mark pushed me!” She screams, practically crying in the fountain. Ms. Chang materialized next to them. Mark can hear people talking about how it looked like the water from the fountain grabbed Chani and pulled her in, but he can’t process, all he knew was that he was in trouble again. Ms. Chang turns on Mark as soon as she makes sure Chani’s okay, promising to get her a new shirt from the gift shop, a triumphant fire in her eyes. It looked like Mark had finally done something she had been waiting for all semester.</p><p> </p><p>“Now, honey.” Her southern drawl was in full force. </p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Mark grumbles, “A month erasing textbooks.” The look on her face tells him that wasn’t the right answer.</p><p> </p><p>“Come with me.” </p><p> </p><p>“Wait!” Guanheng shouts, “It was me. I pushed Chani.” Mark’s eyebrows shot up, not believing Guanheng was actually covering for him. Ms. Chang scared the living shit out of him. She glared at him so hard his chin trembled like the three little pigs. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think that’s the case, Mr. Huang.” </p><p> </p><p>“But.” </p><p> </p><p>“You will stay here.” Guanheng looks at him desperately.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay bro,” Mark says, patting Guanheng’s shoulder, “Thanks for trying.” </p><p> </p><p>“Now!” Ms. Chang barks. Choi Chani smirks, and Mark gives her a deluxe i’ll-kill-you-later stare. Then, he turns back to Ms. Chang, but she’s not in front of him, instead standing at the entrance to the museum. Mark wonders how she got there so quickly, and hustles after. He has moments like that a lot, where it feels like his brain is asleep, and the next thing he knows, he’s missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out and left him staring at the hole it left behind, trying to figure out what happened. The counselor told him this was part of his ADHD, his brain misinterpreting things. He wasn’t so sure. Mark glances back at Guanheng when he;s halfway up the steps. Guanheng’s face is pale, eyes flitting back and forth between Mark and Mr. Kim, like he hopes Mr. Kim would notice and put a stop to it, but he was too absorbed in his book. When Mark looks back up again, Ms, Chang is gone. She’s now inside at the end of the entrance hall. Mark thinks that she's going to make him buy a new shirt for Chani, but apparently, that wasn’t the plan. Mark follows her deeper into the museum, and by the time he catches up to her, they’re back at the Roman and Greek exhibit. Ms. Chang stands with her arms crossed in front of a large statue of the gods, making a weird growling noise in the back of her throat. Even without the growling noise, he would have felt nervous. It’s weird to be alone with a teacher, especially Ms. Chang. It was something about the way she looked at the statue, like she wanted to pulverise it. </p><p> </p><p>“You’ve been giving us a lot of problems.” She says, voice almost a snarl. Mark’s brain flicks through the possible scenarios, and settles on the least bad. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Ma’am.” Ms. Chang tugs on her jacket.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you think you would get away with it?” The look in her eyes was pure evil. Mark reminds himself that she’s a teacher, she would never hurt him.</p><p> </p><p>“I-I,” Mark stammers, clearing his throat, “I’ll, I’ll try harder Ma’am.” The building shakes with thunder.</p><p> </p><p>“We are not fools, Mark Lee,” Ms. Chang says, “It was only a matter of time before we found out,” She pauses, tugging on her jacket again, “Confess and you will suffer a better fate.” Mark has no idea what she’s talking about. He contemples asking if she was on drugs. All he can think of is that the teachers found out about the illegal stash of candy he had begun selling out of his and Guanheng’s dorm. Or maybe, they’d realized that his essay on The Crucible was completely taken off of the internet without even reading the book and they were going to take his grade away, or worse, he thinks, they were going to make him read the book.</p><p> </p><p>“Well?” She demands.</p><p> </p><p>“Ma’am,” Mark starts carefully, “I don’t.” </p><p> </p><p>“Your time is up.” She snarls. Then, the weirdest shit started happening. Her eyes started to glow, and talens grew out of her hands. Mark wonders for a moment if there had been drugs in his sandwich. Her leather jacket quite literally melted and grew into gross, leathery wings. She wasn’t human. She was a gross ass shriveled bat thing with claws and a mouthful of yellowed teeth, and she was about to slice Mark to pieces. Then, as if things couldn’t get any stranger, Mr. Kim shows up.</p><p> </p><p>“What ho!” He bellows, tossing a small ball point pen to Mark. Ms, Chang lunges at him. Mark catches the pen, and as soon as it touches his palm, it turns into a sword. It was Mr. Kim’s sword, the one he always used on tournament day. Ms. Chang spins towards him with a murderous look in her eyes. Mark’s hands were shaking so bad he almost dropped the sword. </p><p> </p><p>“Die!” Ms. Chang shrieks, flying straight towards him. Mark, working on nothing but a bite of sandwich and pure adrenaline, did the only thing that felt natural, and swings the sword. The metal blade hit her shoulder and went straight through her body like she was made of water. Ms. Chang exploded into a sand storm, leaving the room with a hiss and an evil chill, as if her eyes were still watching him. Mark was alone. He was alone in a room, holding a ballpoint pen. Mr. Kim was gone, Ms. Chang was gone, and he was alone. He wonders if he imagined the entire thing, and goes back outside. Guanheng sits outside in the rain with a map over his head, and Chani was standing next to him, still soaked from her tumble in the fountain.</p><p> </p><p>“I hope Mrs. Ling kicked your ass.” Chani says, when she sees him.</p><p> </p><p>“Who?” </p><p> </p><p>“Our teacher,” She rolls her eyes, “Dumbass.” Mark blinks. They didn’t have a teacher named Mrs. Ling, so he asks Chani what she was talking about. She just rolled her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Bro where’s Ms. Chang?” Mark turns towards Guanheng, who just blinks at him. </p><p> </p><p>“Who?” Mark thinks he knows something because he paused, and Guanheng wouldn’t look at him, so Mark thought he was playing a prank.</p><p> </p><p>“Not funny dude,” Mark says, “I’m serious.” Thunder boomed as Mark looks around, eyes catching Mr. Kim sitting in the same spot under the red umbrella, reading his book. It looked like he never left. Mark heads over to him. Mr. Kim looks up, a bit confused, before his eyes zero in on Mark’s hand.</p><p> </p><p>“That would be my pen, Mr. Lee,” He says, “Please bring your own writing utensil in the future.” Mark nods, handing over the pen. He hadn’t realized he was still holding it until that moment.</p><p> </p><p>“Sir,” Mark says, mind running faster than ever, “Where’s Ms. Chang?” Mr. Kim blinks at him, blankly. </p><p> </p><p>“Who?”</p><p> </p><p>“The other chaperone,” Mark says, running a hand through his wet hair, “The algebra teacher. Ms. Chang.” Mr. Kim frowns, sitting forward a bit. He looks concerned. </p><p> </p><p>“Mark, there is no Ms. Chang on this trip, and as far as I know, there has never been a Ms. Chang in the history of SM academy,” Mark’s eyes widen, “Are you feeling alright?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The only people there were three old ass ladies sitting in rocking chairs under a tree, knitting the biggest socks Mark had ever seen in his life. The size of the socks were clearly more suited for a sweater, but they were clearly socks. The lady on the left was knitting the right sock, the lady on the left the left sock, and the lady in the middle was holding a giant pile of baby blue yarn. All three of them looked ancient, haggard faces, leathery, and bony arms sticking out of dresses, hair tied back with bandannas. And the weirdest thing: they seemed to be staring directly at Mark.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi!! i hope you are all liking this, also if you can't find stuff on my twt that bc it's undergoing some serious surgery, in which i will hopefully make my twt easier for you to use and communicate with me.<br/>p.s i would absolutely love it if you guys sent me some ccs about this book or any of the other stuff ive written it would be amazing<br/>ALSO: the summary will always been something that happens inside the chapter, probably like a spolier<br/>caroline</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mark was used to the occasional weird experience, but typically they were over quickly. This constant hallucination was more than he could handle. For the rest of the school year, the entire academy seemed to be playing some sort of elaborate prank on him. Mark couldn’t figure out why. The whole student body seemed completely convinced that Mrs. Ling, a tall perky brunette, whom Mark had never seen in his life until she got on the bus at the end of the field trip, had been the math teacher since Christmas. Every so often, Mark would spring a great Ms. Chang reference on someone, just to see if they would falter from the prank, but they just stared at Mark like he was a psychopath. It got so bad that Mark almost believed them. But, he thinks, Guanheng can’t fool him no matter how hard he tries. Everytime Mark would bring up Ms. Chang, Guanheng would hesitate, fear flashing in his eyes, before he would vehemently insist that she didn’t exist at all. Mark knows when Guanheng’s lying, and he isn’t very good at it. Something was going on. Something had happened at the museum and no one was telling him. He didn’t have much time to think about it during the day, but at night, visions of Ms, Chang with leathery wings and claws would wake him up in a cold sweat almost every night. The freaky weather continued without pause, which didn’t help Mark’s shitty mood. One night, during a dream that Ms. Chang was clawing his eyes out, he woke up to a thunderstorm breaking the windows of his and Guanheng’s dorm room, and a few days later, the largest tornado New York had ever seen touched down 30 miles from SM. Mark started feeling cranky and irritable all the time. His grades slipped from D’s to F’s almost instantly, and he started getting into more fights with Choi Chani and her goons. Finally, when the english teacher asked why he was too lazy to study spelling, Mark snapped, calling him an ols snot. He wasn’t even sure what it meant, but it felt right in the moment. That, apparently, was the last straw. The headmaster sent his mom a letter making it official: he would not be invited back to SM academy next year. Mark keeps telling himself that it was fine. He was homesick. He wanted to be with his mom in their little apartment on the East side of New York, even if he had to go to public school and put up with his loud stepfather and his poker games. And yet, he thinks, there were things at SM he’d miss. The view from his dorm, the smell of pine, and most importantly, Guanheng. Mark wonders how he’s going to survive once he’s gone. He’d miss Latin class, with Mr. Kim’s tournament days, and how he had faith that Mark would make it. As exam week crept closer, the only class he studied for was latin. He couldn’t forget that Mr. Kim told him that this subject was life or death, and without thinking, Mark had started to believe him. The evening before his final, he got so frustrated he threw his copy of “Cambridge guide to Greek Mythology” across the room. The letters had started swimming off the page, dancing circles around his head as he tried to make heads or tails of what they meant. There was no way he was going to remember the difference between Chiron or Charon, and conjugating latin verbs. Mark things he’s going to die. He paces around the room, feeling like bugs were crawling all over his body. Then, he remembers Mr. Kim’s face, his thousand year old eyes, saying that he only accepts the best from him. Mark picks up the book with a sigh. He’d never asked a teacher for help before, but maybe if he talked to Mr. Kim, he would have some pointers. At least, Mark thinks, he could apologize for the failing grade he would get on his final. He didn’t want to leave SM with Mr. Kim thinking that he hadn’t tried. He walked downstairs to the faulty offices. Most of them dark and empty, but Mr. Kim’s door was slightly open, light on and spilling into the hallway. He was a few steps away from the door handle when he heard voices. Mr. Kim asked a question. Then, a voice that was definitely Guanheng’s said he was worried about Mark. Mark freezes. He’s not much of an evesdropper, but he can’t help it when it’s about him. He inches closer to the door.</p><p> </p><p>“Alone this summer,” Guanheng was saying, “I mean, a Kindly One in the school. Now that we know for sure, and they know.”</p><p> </p><p>“We would only make it worse by telling him,” Mr. Kim says, “We need the boy to mature more.” </p><p> </p><p>“But,” Guanheng interjects, “He may not have time,” Mark can’t see him but he knows he’s running a hand through his hair, “The summer solstice deadline.” </p><p> </p><p>“Will still be resolved without him,” Mr. Kim sounds stressed, “Let him enjoy his ignorance and innocence while he can.”</p><p> </p><p>“But, sir, he saw her.” </p><p> </p><p>“His imagination,” Insists Mr. Kim, “The Mist put on all the students and staff should convince him that much.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sir, I,” Guanheng says, voice choked, “I, I can’t fail in my duties again. You know what that would mean.” </p><p> </p><p>“You haven’t failed Guanheng.” Mr. Kim says quietly, “Now let's worry about keeping Mark alive until next fall.” The book drops out of Mark’s hand, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Mr. Kim stops talking instantly. Mark’s heart hammers in his chest, slowly picking up the book, and backing down the hall. A shadow of something much taller than his wheelchair bound teacher slides across the glass on his office door, holding something that looked like an archers bow. Mark gulps and slides into the nearest open door. A few seconds later, he hears a clopping, like wooden blocks or horse hooves, clipping on the wooden floors, then a snuffling sound right outside the door Mark was sheltered in. A large shape pauses in front of the glass, and then moved on. A bead of sweat trickles down Mark’s neck and collects on his shirt. </p><p> </p><p>“Nothing.” Mr. Kim murmurs, halfway down the hall.</p><p> </p><p>“My nerves have been shot since the winter solstice.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mine either,” Guanheng says, “But I could have sworn.” </p><p> </p><p>“Go back to the dorms,” Mr. Kim tells him, “You have a long day of finals tomorrow.” </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t remind me.” Guanheng groans, then heads outside. The lights shut off in the office. Mark waits for what feels like forever, but was probably only five minutes, then slips out of<br/>
the door and heads back to his dorm. Guanheng lays on his bed, studying latin as if he never left.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” He says, when Mark slides back into the room, “Are you going to be ready for the test?” Mark doesn’t answer, “You look shitty bro,” Guanheng frowns, “Are you okay” Mark nods. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I’m just tired.” Mark turns so Guanheng can’t see his expression, and gets ready for bed. He didn’t understand what he’d heard in Mr. Kim’s office, but one thing was certain.<br/>
Mr. Kim and Guanheng were talking about him behind his back, and they thought he was in danger. The next afternoon, as he was exiting his three hour latin exam, Mr, Kim called him back. For a fleeting moment, Mark was worried he knew about the eavesdropping, but that didn’t seem to be the problem. </p><p> </p><p>“Mark,” He says, hand folded on his lap, “Don’t be discouraged about leaving SM,” He pauses, “It’s for the best.” His tone was kind, but his words were embarrassing, and the other kids finishing the test could hear him. Choi Chani smirked at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, sir.” Mark mutters.</p><p> </p><p>“I mean,” Mr. Kim wheels his chair back and forth. Mark thinks it might be a nervous tick, “This isn’t the right place for you,” He pauses again, “It was only a matter of time.” Mark feels like he just got slapped in the face. His favorite teacher, the one who believed in him, was telling him he was destined to get kicked out in front of the whole class. Mark’s hands trembled.</p><p> </p><p>“No, no,” Mr. Kim says, backtracking, “What I’m trying to say, Mark, is that you’re not normal. That’s nothing to be.” </p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Mark says, sarcastically, “Thanks so much sir, for reminding me.” </p><p> </p><p>“Mark.” He was already out of the classroom, unable to hear what his teacher had to say. On the last day of the semester, Mark shoves his clothes into a suitcase. The other boys were<br/>
joking around, saying where they were going for the summer. One was going on a month-long cruise around the Caribbean, one was going to Jamaica. Like Mark, they were all juvenile delinquents, but unlike Mark, they were rich juvenile delinquents.  Their parents were all executives, actors, or ambassadors. Mark was a nobody, from a family of nobodies. He didn’t even have a father. They asked him what he’d be doing this summer, and he said he’d go back to the city to hang out with his mom. What he didn’t tell them, was that he would get a part time job at a local hot dog stand, or walking dogs, wondering where he’d go to school in the fall.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” One of them says, “That’s cool.” Then, they went back to their shoving as if Mark never existed. The person he dreaded saying goodbye to the most was Guanheng, but as it turned out, he didn’t have to. At least not yet. He’d booked a ticket on the bus that Mark was taking back into the city, so they headed in together. During the whole bus ride, Guanheng kept glancing nervously down the aisle of people, watching the other passengers. It had occurred to Mark that he’d always accrued more nervous and fidgety when they left SM, like he assumed something bad was going to happen, but Mark assumed it was because he was afraid of being teased, and there was no one to tease him on a bus full of strangers. Finally, Mark couldn’t take it anymore. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you looking for the Kindly ones?” Guanheng nearly jumps out of his seat from shock.</p><p> </p><p>“Wh-what,” He stammers, eyes flitting around nervously, “What do you mean?” Mark explains that he overheard him talking to Mr. Kim. Guanheng’s eye starts twitching rapidly.</p><p> </p><p>“How much did you hear?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Mark says, stroking his chin, “Not that much,” His eyes glint when he remembers something, “What’s the summer solstice deadline?” Guanheng winces, eye still twitching.</p><p> </p><p>“Look,” He sighs, “Mark, I was just worried about you. I mean, hallucinating about math crazy ass math teachers with claws and wings.” </p><p> </p><p>“Guanheng.” </p><p> </p><p>“And,” Guanheng continues, not hearing his name at all, “I was telling Mr. Kim that you might be overstressed because there is no such person as Ms. Chang, and.” </p><p> </p><p>“Guanheng,” Mark butts in, “You’re a really shitty liar.” Guanheng’s ears turn red. He fishes out a crumpled business card from his pocket.</p><p> </p><p>“Take this,” He says, handing it over. Mark gingerly takes it, unsure where it’s been, “In case you need me this summer.” The card was unfortunately in cursive, which was complete<br/>
murder for his dyslexic eyes, but eventually he makes it out.</p><p>
Huang Guanheng<br/>
Keeper<br/>
Half-blood Hill<br/>
Long Island, New York<br/>
(800)-009-0009<br/>
</p><p>



“What’s half?” Mark starts, but Guanheng cuts him off harshly.




“Don’t say it outloud!” Guanheng yelps. Some passengers turn to look, “That’s, um, that’s my summer address.” Mark feels his heart drop. Guanheng had a summer home. He’d never 
considered that his family would be as rich as some of the other SM kids. 




“Oh,” Mark says, glumly, “So, like if I want to come visit your fancy mansion.” Guanheng pauses for a moment before he nods. 




“Or if you need me.” 




“Why would I need you?” Mark’s voice is harsher than he intended. Guanheng looks wounded. 




“Look, Mark,” He says, “The truth is, I have to protect you.” All year long, Mark had gotten into fights, keeping the bullies away from Guanheng, and had lost sleep worrying about how Guanheng was going to be once Mark wasn’t at SM to keep the bullies away, and here he was acting like he was the one defending.




“Guanheng,” Mark says, “What exactly are you protecting me from?” There was a loud, grinding noise under their feet. Mark is reminded of Ms. Chang’s growling. Black smoke poured from the front of the bus, and a smell like rotten eggs infiltrated the bus. The driver cursed loudly and pulled the bus to the side of the road. He clanks around in the engine compartment for a few meger minutes, before announcing everyone had to get off. Mark and Guanheng filed outside with the rest of the passengers. They were on a long stretch of country road, Mark notices, somewhere he would never remember had he not been stranded, and there was nothing around except a fruit stand across the highway. The stuff they were selling looked amazing, all completely ripe and fresh, but there was no one there. Not even customers. The only people there were three old ass ladies sitting in rocking chairs under a tree, knitting the biggest socks Mark had ever seen in his life. The size of the socks were clearly more suited for a sweater, but they were clearly socks. The lady on the left was knitting the right sock, the lady on the left the left sock, and the lady in the middle was holding a giant pile of baby blue yarn. All three of them looked ancient, haggard faces, leathery, and bony arms sticking out of dresses, hair tied back with bandannas. And the weirdest thing: they seemed to be staring directly at Mark. Mark looks over at Guanheng to say something about the ladies, but he looked pale, nose twitching. 




“Guanheng?” Mark says, “Hey, bro.” 




“Tell me they’re not looking at you,” Guanheng says, grabbing Mark’s arm, “They are, aren’t they?”




“Yeah,” Mark says, slowly, “Weird, huh. Do you think those socks would fit me?” Guanheng gives him a look.




“Not funny Mark, this is serious.” The lady holding the ridiculous amount of yarn took out a giant pair of scissors. One side was gold, the other silver. Guanheng catches his breath. 




“We’re getting on the bus,” He says, “Now.” 




“But,” Mark complains, “It’s like a million degrees in there!”  




“Come on!” Guanheng pries the door open and climbs back in, but Mark stays outside. Across the highway, the old ladies were still watching him. The middle one cuts the yarn with the giant scissors, and Mark swears he can hear it over four lanes of traffic. The other two ladies balled up the socks, leaving Mark wondering if they were for a yeti or sasquatch. At the rear of the bus, the driver pulls a steaming blank chunk out of the bus. It shutters, stalls, and then roars to life. 




“Damn right!” The driver yells, slapping his hat on the back of the bus, “Everyone back in!” Once they got going, Mark starts to feel feverish, like he’d caught the flu. Guanheng, for his part, didn’t look much better. He was fidgeting and sweating.




“Guanheng?”




“Yeah?”




“What are you not telling me?” Guanheng dabs at his forehead with his sleeve. 




“Mark, what did you see at the fruit stand?”




“Oh you mean those weird old ladies?” Mark asks, “What is it about them bro? Are they like Ms. Chang?” Guanheng’s expression is hard to read, but Mark gets the feeling that those ladies were much worse than Ms. Chang.




“Just tell me exactly what you saw.”




“The middle one took out those funky ass scissors and cut the yarn.” Guanheng closes his eyes and makes a gesture with his hands, one Mark knew was ancient just by looking at it.




“You saw her snip the chord?”




“Yeah,” Mark says, confused, “So?”




“This is not happening,” Guanheng mutters to himself like a prayer, chewing on his thumb, “I don’t want this to be like last time.” 




“What was last time?”




“It’s always freshman year,” He chews more aggressively, “They never make it past freshman year.” 




“Guanheng,” Mark says, completely scared, “What are you talking about?” 




“Let me walk you home from the bus,” Guanheng says, “Promise.” Mark thinks it sounds like a weird request, but he compiles anyway. Mark asks if it was a superstition, but Guanheng doesn’t answer.




“Guanheng,” Mark asks, when his brain finally connects the dots, “Does the snipping of the yarn mean that someone’s going to die?” Guanheng just looks at him mournfully, like he was already wondering if Mark would rather have lilies or daisies at his funeral.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“ω Θεέ μου!” Guanheng shouts, “It’s right behind me!” He gives Mark a look, “Didn’t you tell her?” Mark was way too shocked to register that Guanheng spoke ancient greek and Mark understood him perfectly. He was too shocked to wonder why Guanheng had gotten to their cabin in the middle of the night.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi!! i hope you guys are liking this bc it's super fun for me to write! also there will be greek in the book a few times and i will always say what it means here, so the greek in this chap means oh my god<br/>caroline</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Confession: Mark ditches Guaheng as soon as they arrive at the bus station. He knows it’s rude, but Guanheng was freaking him out with his mutterings, looking at Mark like he was a dead man. Whenever he got upset, or stressed, Guanheng’s bladder acted up, so Mark wasn’t surprised when Guanheng made him promise to wait before beelining it to the bathroom. Instead of waiting, Mark instead grabs his suitcase and heads outside to hail a cab.</p><p> </p><p>“East 14th and Green street.” He tells the driver, settling in for the road to his mother’s apartment. Her name was Miyeon Lee and she was the best person in the world, which proves Mark’s theory that the best people have the worst luck. Her parents, Mark’s grandparents, died in a car accident when she was 5, and she was raised by an uncle that didn’t care much for her. She wanted to be a writer, so she spent high school working her ass off to make enough money to go to a college with a good writing program. Then, Mark’s great Uncle got cancer, and she had to quit to take care of him. When he died, she had no money, no house and no diploma. The only good break she got was when she met Mark’s dad. Mark himself doesn’t have any memories of him, just the faintest glow, maybe a trace of a smile, but nothing else. His mom doesn’t talk about him that much. It makes her sad. She has no pictures of him, so Mark has absolutely no idea what he looks like. The thing is, they weren’t married. His mom told him that his father was rich and important and their relationship was a secret, not to be discussed by anyone, and Mark had never asked who he was. Then, one day, his father sailed across the Pacific on some important journey, and never came back. Lost at sea, his mother always told him, not dead, lost at sea. She worked odd jobs, taking night classes to get her diploma, and raised him on her own. She never complained, didn’t get mad about it, not even once. But, Mark knows he’s not an easy kid. Then, she married Sungmin Chang, who was nice in the first couple moments they knew him, but showed his true asshole colors after the wedding. When Mark was young, he’d nicknamed him Smelly Sungmin. The man smelled of moldy pizza and garlic. Between the two of them, they made Mark’s mom’s life hard. The way Sungmin treated her, the way Mark and Sungmin got along. Mark walks into their small apartment, hoping to find his mom home from work, but instead of a loving hug, he sees Sungmin playing poker with his goons in the living room. Chips and beer cans were strewn all over the ground. The TV was on, blaring the news, even though no one was watching it.</p><p> </p><p>“So, you’re home.” Sungmin says, yellowed teeth holding his cigarette in place.</p><p> </p><p>“Where’s my mom?” Mark asks, picking his way across the living room.</p><p> </p><p>“Working,” Sungmin says, taking out the cigarette, “Do you have cash?” That’s it, no welcome home, no I’m so glad you’re back, just money. Sungmin had noticeably put on weight. He looked like a walrus stuffed into gym shorts and a wifebeater. Mark would rather die than wear a wifebeater. His hairline had receded at least two inches since Mark last saw him, and he had combed his hair over, presenting everyone with a first look at his shiny forehead. Mark grimaced. Sungmin managed a store in Queens that sold electrical equipment, but he spent most of his time at home, pocketing paychecks, and spending them on everything but a decent shower. Whenever Mark was home, Sungmin expected him to provide for his gambling funds. He called it their ‘alpha thing’, meaning he would beat Mark up if he were ever to tell his mom.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t have any money.” Sungmin raises an eyebrow, able to sniff out money like a dog, even though he smelled like a teenage boy personified.<br/>“You took a tax from the bus station,” He says, “Probably got like seven or eight back in cash. You have to pull your own weight if you expect to live in this house,” He looks at one of the men playing poker, “Am I right, Hongjun?” Hongjun was the landlord of the apartment building, and looked at Mark with a smidge of sympathy.</p><p> </p><p>“Sungmin, the kid just got here,” He pauses, picking up a handful of chips. Most of it spills to the floor, “Give him a break.” </p><p> </p><p>“Am I right?” Sungmin repeats. The other two men fart in perfect harmony as Hongjun scowls into his cards. </p><p> </p><p>“Jesus fine,” Mark snaps, digging out a wad of cash and throwing it in front of Sungmin, “I hope you lose.” </p><p> </p><p>“Your report card came in brainy!” Sungmin shouts after him as Mark heads down the small hallway, “I wouldn’t act so snobby!” Mark slams the door to his room. During school months, it was Sungmin’s study, but he never studied there. He just looked at old car magazines, and stunk the room up with his sweat and pizza. His muddy boots were always left on Mark’s window sill, and Sungmin liked shoving all of Mark’s belongings into the closet, for him to pull out later. Mark drops his suitcase on the small desk chair and opens a window, trying to get rid of the smell. Home sweet home. Sungmin’s smell, Mark decides is almost as bad as the nightmares of Ms. Chang turning into a monster, or the sound of the old fruit lady’s scissors cutting the yarn. His legs feel weak as soon as he thinks about that. He remembers Guanheng’s look of absolute panic, how he made him promise he wouldn’t leave without him, and Mark feels a twinge of guilt, possibly remorse at leaving Guanheng stranded at the bus station with no explanation as to why. A sudden chill rushes through his body, leaving him feeling like something, someone was looking for him, maybe pouding it’s way through the building, growing large talons.</p><p> </p><p>“Mark?” His mom opens his bedroom door. Mark’s fears melted instantly, happy to be in her presence. His mom had an ability to make him feel good by simply being around him. She didn’t even have to say anything she just needed to be there. Shes’s got a few grey strands in her long black hair, but Mark never thinks she’s old, only tired. When she looks at him, it’s like she sees all the good in him, and none of the bad. Mark thinks that it’s refreshing. Mark’s never heard her raise her voice, not at him and surprisingly, not even at Sungmin.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Minhyungie!” She cries, hugging him tight to her chest, “You’ve grown so much since Christmas!” Mark melts into her embrace. Her black and pink sweet shop uniform smells like everything Mark likes, chocolate, suckers, and all the other things she sold at the sweet shop. She’d brought him back a giant bag of free sweets, filled with only blue candies, and some chocolates, like she always did when he came back home. They sit together at the edge of the bed, and while Mark attacks some blue raspberry sour strings, head pillowed on her shoulder, she runs light fingers through his hair, demanding to know everything he hadn’t said in letters. She didn’t say anything about him getting expelled, not really caring about it at all, just wanting to know if he was alright. If her little boy was okay. Mark tells her that she’s smothering him, to lay off, but secretly, he likes it, likes when she worries more than she can take, misses her so much it hurts. It feels amazing to be back with her again.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey Miyeon,” Sungmin yells from the living room, “How about some 7 layer dip?” Mark scowls. His mother is the nicest woman in the world. She should have been married to a millionaire, never have to worry about anything ever again, not some asshole like Sungmin. For her sake, Mark tries to sound as upbeat as he can about his last days at SM. He doesn’t want to worry her further. He tells her he wasn’t down or sad about the expulsion, that he’d lasted the whole year this time, that he would miss the friends he made, how well he’d done in Latin, and that the fights weren’t as bad as the headmaster had said. He almost convinces himself that he’d put a good spin on the year, until he begins thinking about Mr. Kim, and Guanheng. Even Choi Chani didn’t sound as bad, until the trip to the museum.</p><p> </p><p>“What happened?” His mother asks, large eyes tugging at his conscience, “Did something scare you?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.” Mark says, feeling bad for lying to her. He wants to tell her about Ms. Chang and the old ladies with the yarn, but he thought it would sound stupid. His mother’s lips purse. She knew he was holding something back, but didn’t press him.</p><p> </p><p>“I have a surprise for you!” She says, clapping her hands together, “We’re going to the beach!” Mark gasps.</p><p> </p><p>“Sista?” His mom nods, excited.</p><p> </p><p>“Three nights, same cabin!” </p><p> </p><p>“When?” </p><p> </p><p>“As soon as I get dressed.” They hadn’t been to Sista the last three summers, because Sungmin always said there wasn’t enough money. Sungmin’s frame appears in the door, sweat pooling at his forehead. </p><p> </p><p>“Seven layer dip,” He says, mopping at his hairline, “Didn’t you hear me?” Mark feels his fists clench, but he meets his mother’s eyes, and understands she was offering him a deal: suck up to Sungmin for a while, just until she was ready to leave for Sista, and then they would be on their way.</p><p> </p><p>“I was on my way sweetie,” She says sweetly, “We were just talking about the trip.” </p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t know you were serious about that.” He says, eyes growing smaller. </p><p> </p><p>“I knew it,” Mark mutters glumly, “He won’t let us go.” </p><p> </p><p>“Of course he will,” His mom says, “Your stepfather is just worried about money. That’s all,” She pauses again, placing a hand on Sungmin’s chest. Mark shudders, “Sungmin won’t have to settle for seven layer dip. I’ll make enough seven layer dip to last the whole weekend.” Sungmin softens a little. <br/>“The money for the trip comes out of your clothes and makeup budget right?” Mark’s mother nods. </p><p> </p><p>“Of course sweetie.” </p><p> </p><p>“And you promise not to take my car anywhere but there and back.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes sweetie.” Sungmin scratches at his stubble.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe if you hurry with that dip, and if the kid apologies for interrupting my game.” Mark’s mother’s eyes warned him not to make Sungmin mad. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m very sorry for interrupting your very important poker game,” Mark says, trying his hardest not to sound sarcastic, “Please go right back to it. Sungmin’s eyes narrowed like his pea brain was trying to understand if Mark was being sarcastic or not.</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever.” Sungmin says, heading back to the game.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you Minhyung,” His mother says, “Once we get there we’ll talk about what you didn’t tell me, okay?” For a fleeting moment, Mark sees complete anxiety in her eyes, much like the one he’d seen in Guanheng during the bus ride, as if his mother felt a cold chill in the air, but her smile returns and Mark assumes he thought too much about it. She ruffles his hair, and goes to make the seven layer dip. An hour and a half later, they were ready to leave. It would have been an hour, but Mark’s mother insisted he take a long shower beforehand, refusing to let him out of the bathroom unless he had been in there for twenty minutes. She said he smelled disgusting and needed to completely scrub his entire body down, so that he would smell good again. Sungmin took a break from his game to watch Mark lug his mom’s bags to his car, hair still dripping wet, and started moaning about losing his car for the weekend.</p><p> </p><p>“Not a scratch, brainy,” He warns Mark, “Not a scratch.” Mark scoffs. He wouldn’t be the one driving, he was fourteen. But that didn’t matter to Sungmin, if a bird so much as took a shit on his paint job, he would find a way to blame Mark. Mark feels his anger rise so much watching Sungmin go back into the building, he does something he can’t explain at all. He lifts his hands, performing the sign Guanheng did back at the bus when Sungmin reaches the door, and flings his hands towards his stepfather in a clawed hand over his heart flinging gesture. The screen door slams shut so hard on Sungmin’s ass that he goes flying up three stairs, like he’d been shot from a cannon at a circus. Mark thinks it was the wind or a freak incident with the hinges, but he doesn’t stay long enough to find out. Instead, he hops into the car and tells his mother to floor it. Their rental cabin was way off the Southern shore of Long Island, a little pastel green box that always was infested with sand and spiders, but Mark loved it. They’d been going there since Mark was a baby, and his mother even longer. She never said exactly why the beach was so important to her, but Mark doesn’t need to ask. He knows the beach is where she met Mark’s dad. The closer they got to Sista, the younger his mother appears, years of worry and work disappearing from her face, worry lines smoothing out to create the face Mark remembers from his childhood, when she wasn’t so busy. Her eyes turned the color of the sea. When they got there, they went through their usual cleaning routine, getting the sand out from every cranny of the cabin, and opened all the windows. They took a walk around the beach and fed blue corn chips to seagulls, snacking on the blue candy his mom brought from the shop. Sungmin had once told her there was no such thing. They had a fight, not a fight that Mark remembers, but still a fight, which had seemed like a small thing at the time, but ever since then, she’d gone out of her way to prove him wrong. She bought only blue chips, made blue birthday cakes and blueberry smoothies, and only brought blue candy back from the shop. This, along with keeping her maiden name, Lee, was proof she wasn’t completely under Sungmin’s spell. She had a rebellious streak, like Mark. Once it got dark, they started a fire and roasted hot dogs and marshmallows while his mother tells him stories from her childhood, back before her parents died in a car accident, about the books she wants to write someday, when she had enough money to quit working at the candy shop. Eventually, as Mark finally stops picking marshmallow residue off his stick, he works up the courage to ask her about the one thing he always wanted to talk about when they came to Sista, his father. Her eyes got misty, and Mark figures she’s going to tell him the same thing she always did, but Mark never got tired of hearing them.</p><p> </p><p>“He was kind,” She says, voice wet, “So kind, tall, handsome, powerful. But gentle, like a butterfly. You have his black hair, you know, and his eyes,” She fishes some blue candy out of the bag, “I wish you could have met him Minhyungie, he would be so proud of you.” Mark wonders what was so good about him that would make her say that. Why would his father be proud of a dyslexic kid with ADHD who’d been kicked out of every school he’d gone to?</p><p> </p><p>“How old was I?” Mark asks, “When he left?” He watches the flames from the side of his mom’s face. </p><p> </p><p>“He was only with me for one summer, Minhyung,” She says, “Right here at Sista.” </p><p> </p><p>“But,” Mark says, disbelieving, “He knew me as a baby.” She shakes her head.</p><p> </p><p>“No, no sweetheart, he knew I was expecting, but he had to leave before you were born,” She looks at Mark, “He never saw you.” Mark tries to add that in with the fact that he seems to remember something about his father. Something, a warm glow, maybe a smile, but something. Mark had always assumed his father knew him as a baby. His mom never told him outright, but he thought it must be true. He remembered something, but now to be told that he’d never even seen him. He feels angry at his father, for having to leave, for not marrying his mom, for never meeting him. Now, they were stuck with Sungmin.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you going to send me away again?” Mark asks, “To boarding school?” She pulls out a marshmallow. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know,” She says, thoughtfully, “But we need to do something.” </p><p> </p><p>“Because you don’t want me around?” Mark blubbers, regretting the words as soon as he speaks them. His mother’s eyes fill with tears, brimming over her beautiful eyes and spilling <br/>down her cheeks.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, sweetheart,” She pulls Mark into her chest, “No, not at all. I-I have to honey,” She sighs, clutching his hand, “For your own good.” Her words remind Mark of what Mr. Kim told him, that it was better to leave SM.</p><p> </p><p>“Because I’m not normal.” </p><p> </p><p>“You say that like it’s a bad thing Minhyung,” She says, “You just don’t realize how important you are. I thought SM would be far enough to keep you safe.”</p><p> </p><p>“From what?” Mark demands. They meet eyes, and Mark is flooded with memories, all the weird, scary memories that had happened to him, most of which Mark tries to block out. During second grade, a man in a trench coat, that looked very cliche now that Mark looks back on it, stalked him at the playground, and when the teachers threatened to call the police, he went away growling, eerily similar to Ms. Chang, but no one believed him when he said that under his bowler hat, there was only one eye in the middle of his head. Before that, in preschool, one of his teachers laid him on a mat for naptime, not knowing a snake had slithered into the cot, and his mother had a heart attack when she came to pick him up and saw him playing with a rubbery snake rope that he had managed to strangle to death. In every single school, some weird shit happened, something unsafe, and he was forced to move. Mark knows he should tell her about the old ladies at the fruit stand and the hallucination he had about cutting his math teacher to dust, but he has a strange feeling it would shorten their trip, and he doesn’t want that, so he doesn’t say anything.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve tried to keep you as close as I could,” She continues, “They told me it was a mistake, but there is one other option, MInhyung, the place your father wanted to send you, but I couldn’t do it.</p><p> </p><p>“Dad wanted me to go to a special school?” She shakes her head, giggling a bit.</p><p> </p><p>“Not a school, a summer camp.” Mark’s head starts spinning. Why would his father, who never even stuck around to see him born talk to his mom about a summer camp, and if it was so important, why did she never mention it before?</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry Minhyungie,” She says, “I can’t talk about it. I just couldn’t send you to that place, not when it meant saying goodbye to you for good.” </p><p> </p><p>“Why for good?” Mark asks, “It’s only a summer camp.” She turns towards the fire, and Mark knows that if he asks any more questions she would cry. </p><p> </p><p>That night, he has a very vivid dream. It was storming and two beautiful animals, a speckled horse and an eagle were trying to kill each other on the water's edge. The eagle attacks first, swooping down and scratching along the horses body with it’s talons. The horse lets out a scream of pain, kicking up at the eagles wings. As they fought, the ground tumbled, groaning, and a monstrous voice comes rising up, goading the animals to fight harder. Mark races towards them, unsure what he’s doing, but trying to stop the fight, but he’s too late. He screams as the eagle dives to the horse, beak aiming at the eyes. He wakes up with a start, sweating. He looks towards the window, where it really is raining outside. But, there’s no eagle or horse, just rain. It was the kind of storm that breaks trees and houses. His mom wakes up with the next thunderclap. </p><p> </p><p>“Hurricane.” She says. Mark knows it was crazy, Long Island never sees hurricanes this early. Over the roar of the wind, Mark hears a distant bellowing sound, a loud tortured yell that sets his teeth on edge. Then, a much closer noise, like bullets hitting on metal. A desperate voice, something pounding on the door. His mother springs up, rushing to unlock the door. Guanheng stood on the old porch, covered completely in water, bracketed by the rain outside. </p><p> </p><p>“Searching all night,” He gasps, scrubbing a hand over his face, “What in the hell were you thinking?” Mark’s mother looks at him in terror, but not at Guanheng showing up to their vacation in the middle of a hurricane, but of why he was there. </p><p> </p><p>“Minhyung,” She screams, barely audible over the rain, “What didn’t you tell me? What happened at school?”</p><p> </p><p>“ω Θεέ μου!” Guanheng shouts, “It’s right behind me!” He gives Mark a look, “Didn’t you tell her?” Mark was way too shocked to register that Guanheng spoke ancient greek and Mark understood him perfectly. He was too shocked to wonder why Guanheng had gotten to their cabin in the middle of the night. Because Guanheng didn’t have his pants on, and where his legs should be. Mark’s mom looks at him sternly. </p><p> </p><p>“Mark!” She says, using a tone he’s never heard, “Tell me now!” Mark mumbles something about the ladies and Ms. Chang. His mother stares at him, face deathly pale. She grabs her purse and throws Mark his green rain jacket.</p><p> </p><p>“Get to the car!” She screams, “Both of you!” Guanheng ran for the car, but he wasn’t exactly running, more like trotting, shaking his shaggy legs, and suddenly his story about a muscular disorder made sense. Mark understands how he can run and still limp when he walked. Because where his feet should be there weren’t any feet, instead a pair of hooves.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
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